Duty
by thedragonofbadfaith
Summary: Its nineteen years later. Draco and Hermione meet again on the 9 3/4. Will an encounter twelve years before affect their futures now that they meet again? Told from various POVs. DM/HG, DM/AG, HG/RW, RW/LB, HP/GW
1. Hermione

I hadn't seen Malfoy for almost twelve years. For nearly twelve years he had been nothing more than a dream, a ghost, a distant memory of what could have been. Yet there he was, standing as erect and unflinchingly as a statue on platform 9 ¾. He was as beautiful as ever. Just the sight of him made me weak in the knees. Made my heart thump, thump against my chest like it was ready to explode. Made my breathing erratic, made my skin tingle. He glanced my way and for an instant I forgot about my husband, Ron, standing next to me; I forgot my best friend and sister-in-law; I forgot about seeing Rose off to her first day at Hogwarts. For an instant I became mesmerised, lost in those steel grey eyes and I forgot such things as space and time existed.

There were voices around me, familiar voices. Suddenly I was once again on the platform staring at the Hogwarts Express, wishing Rose off to school. Ron's voice boomed loud above the clamour – saying something about Scorpius. Something about Rosie beating Scorpius. It was time for me to snap back into reality.

"Ron, for heaven's sake, don't try to turn them against each other before they've even started school."

I took a deep breath and tried to refocus. I'd obviously been rattled by seeing Draco. I stared at Rose. She looked exactly like I did when I was eleven – except she had blue eyes. Ron said they were his grandfather's eyes.

"His eyes are blue."

I stared at my daughter. I could have sworn that her lips hadn't moved, yet it was her voice that echoed in my head. _His eyes are blue. _

"Whose eyes are blue, Rosie?"

Rose nodded her head in Draco's direction "Scorpius. His eyes are blue."

"I didn't notice."

I lied. I knew Scorpius had blue eyes. I had seen the pictures of him in the newspapers and magazines. I kept every picture, every story of Draco Malfoy – from his engagement announcement to his father's retirement from chairman of the board. I knew Draco had taken over that position. I knew he had married a French witch, Astoria Greengrass. I knew he had been living in France. I knew he had returned to Malfoy Manor in England when his parents retired and moved to Tahiti. I knew a lot about Draco Malfoy from press clippings. I knew much more from that one night, almost twelve years ago.

Astoria Greengrass-Malfoy had blue eyes. But not like Scorpius'. Those eyes he'd gotten from Narcissa.

I wondered why Rose had mentioned Scorpius' eyes. She seldom spoke. I worried about her. All the time. I worried about her self-imposed solitude and solemnity; I worried about her taciturnity and lugubrious personality; I worried about her never referring to Ron as 'dad' or 'father'. And when she did speak, I worried most. Her train of thought never seemed connected, coherent. She was detached – almost like Luna Lovegood, but without the blibbering humdingers or crumple-horned snorkacks. Yet the things she said could stab like a knife; pierce to the soul; make sense days, weeks, months later. She smiled at the right moments and laughed on cue, but there was something else there. Something that worried me. She was such a precocious child.

The others were boarding the train. Harry and Ginny were giving Albus last minute advice. Ron was looking at his Auror coin – it was flashing – work was calling. Hugo was playing with Lily. Rose smiled at me from the door of a carriage. She said in a whisper that was barely audible "I have blue eyes" before turning and walking into the train. Now Albus jumped into the carriage and Ginny closed the door behind him. The train began to move.

I looked over to where Draco and Astoria had been standing, but they were no longer there. Only thick, white steam from the Hogwarts Express lingered in the space, as if they had had evaporated – like some evanescent hallucination – into the ether.

Ron was by my side – work was calling.

"Can't you take Hugo for just one day?"

"Ron I have an important deposition. Today is supposed to be _your _off day."

"Sorry 'Mione. This is important."

"It's always fucking important Ron. Why am I always the one running the errands? Rescheduling my day? My life? Why can't you tell work to fuck off for once?" My anger was bubbling to the surface; I was getting loud.

Ron looked around nervously, hoping no one was overhearing our exchange. Everyone within earshot was pretended to be concentrating on something else.

"Not now Hermione." He hissed through gritted teeth.

"Not now Ron? When? Your daughter is on her way to her first day of school. You can't even wait for the train to roll off the platform completely before you make a mad dash out of here? Before you make proper arrangements for your son instead of shoving him on me?"

"You act like Hugo is not your son too."

"Don't you try to turn this around Ronald Weasley. I love Hugo, you know that. I would do anything for him. Why can't you? Why is what you do more important than what I do? Than what I want? Why is it always your job first?"

"I have to go." Ron had the final word. He left before I could retaliate.

I was fuming.

Hugo was now standing next to me, clinging to my coat.

"Where did dad go?"

"You father went to work." I was snappy.

"Again?"

"Yes. Again. Your father loves his job. He works very hard,"

"Can't we go visit daddy at work?"

"No."

"Pleeease?" This child was going to try my patience.

"No."

"Pretty pleeeeeeease?"

"NO!"

Hugo frowned. Ginny came to the rescue. "How about Uncle Harry and I take you and Lily to visit your grandparents? Would you like that?" She patted Hugo on the head and a smile returned to his face. He looked at me questioningly and I nodded that he could go.

"Thanks Gin" I muttered as I watched Hugo bounce over to where Harry and Lily were standing.

"Auntie Ginny said I could spend the day with you!"

He was excited. He was never excited to spend a day with me. I wouldn't be excited to spend a day with me. I wasn't _fun _like his Aunt Ginny or his Uncle Harry – or his dad. Oh how he adored his dad. His dad, the 'big-shot' Auror. His dad who spent all of his days and most of his nights at work. His dad who, for all this working, always seemed penniless. I made our mortgage payments. I bought the car. I put food on the table. If I hadn't gone back out to work, I don't know how we would be surviving. I didn't know for sure how Ron was squandering his money, but I saw the portkeys to Cabo and Vegas. I smelled the firewhiskey on his breath at night. Whenever I confronted him about it, he got angry. We'd argue. It never ended well.

The way Hugo idolised his semi-absentee father irritated me to no end. Sometimes I loved to hear when Rose referred to him as Ron. That bothered Ron greatly, that his own daughter wouldn't call him dad. I hadn't prompted her or encouraged her to call him Ron (as he was convinced I had); she just started doing it one day, out of the blue. But it gave me a sense of satisfaction nonetheless. It made me feel less alone in my constant struggle against him.

I inhaled deeply and clenched and unclenched my fists, trying to relieve the tension that was building inside like an awakening volcano. I gathered my things together and waved to Harry and Ginny.

"I have to get going. I have a deposition to attend."

I hustled off of the platform. My deposition wasn't actually until three o'clock that afternoon, but I needed to get away. Away from an absent Ron Weasley; away from Hugo Weasley, Ginny Weasley, Percy Weasley, Every Damn Weasley and especially away from Hermione Jean Granger-Weasley. I made my way up the steps of the train station. I needed to be just Hermione for a while. Not wife, not mother, not witch-at-law. Just Hermione.

Upstairs I fumbled with the muggle coins in my purse at the coffee stand. My double espresso orange mocha frappuccino cost thirty pence more than I'd anticipated. My folder fell open on the counter top and pages of Minky vs. Crown Estates attempted an escape.

"Shit" I mumbled as I fumbled with pages and purse and folder and coins.

Someone was standing behind me. Standing close. A deep male voice sounded "Let me get that"

"No, I got it" The last thing I needed right now was some too-smooth muggle man trying to chat me up.

A pale, male hand slid an un-crumpled ten-pound note towards the impatient muggle girl behind the cash register who ignored my protest and rang up change from the ten. The girl smiled and blushed as she put the mystery man's change into the palm of his pale hand.

I put my coins back into my purse. My pages were again in order. I grabbed my purse and folder and coffee and turned towards the man with every intention of thanking him and blowing him off. I stumbled, as I was caught off-guard by two grey eyes staring at me.

"Malfoy" I sputtered.

* * *

Draco Malfoy was as handsome at thirty-seven years old as he had been some twenty-six years ago when I first met him at Hogwarts. Even at eleven years old, Draco Malfoy was everything I wanted. He was handsome, intelligent, witty and charismatic. Surprisingly, my parents approved of the Malfoys. They were rich and charming and decorous. The Weasleys, on the other hand, my parents believed to be unrefined and lower class. This assessment came after my parents witnessed Arthur Weasley attack Lucius Malfoy in Flourish and Blotts at the start of my second year.

I confided to my mother that I had a huge crush on Draco, but he just seemed to make my life a living hell. My mother told me that boys at his age were often confused about how to react to girls they liked and teased them. She said that Draco's teasing me was probably a sign that he liked me. She said that he'd have a lot to overcome, being a pureblood supremacist and all, and that I just needed to prove myself worthy.

I spent six years at Hogwarts trying to prove myself worthy to Draco Malfoy. I forwent nights of entertainment and socializing to study so that I could have the best grades. So that he could see that I was just as good as any pureblood. I even went the route of trying to make him jealous – I'll never forget the look on his face when I arrived at the Yule Ball with Viktor Krum. He was speechless. At last I was winning his heart. Then Voldemort came back and fucked up everything. Pureblood supremacy was again high on the agenda. He had to act a certain way, say certain things. His life was on the line. His parents' lives were on the line. Our little flirty repartees ended. He stopped loitering around corners waiting for me. There were no more half-smiles in the hallways, not even so much as a 'filthy mudblood' note launched my way during class. I was devastated. I channelled all of my anger and frustration into fighting against Voldemort.

When my side won the war, my first thoughts were of Draco. I thought now we could be open with each other. We could tell each how we felt. He could challenge his parents – his own aunt had married a muggle-born like me. The wizarding world was supposed to be a different place. I made the first move by testifying for him at the trials. He thanked me, but nothing more. He moved to France shortly afterwards. But I didn't give up. I finished my NEWTS then took a job in the Ministry, in the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures. I fought for equality in the wizarding world. I figured the war was just the beginning – perhaps there needed to be more change before Draco would come to me.

Then I read of his engagement to the wealthy, French, pureblood witch Astoria Greengrass. My heart broke. I realised I had been living in a dream, chasing a ghost. All the time Draco was teasing me, I believed he was flirting. He was being serious. How could I have been so foolish? I felt hurt, lost, confused. At the age of twenty-four, two months after Draco Malfoy's engagement announcement, I accepted Ronald Weasley's marriage proposal.

I had given up. Resigned myself to the hard truth – Ronald Weasley was the best that I was going to get. I loved Ron. Loved him like a brother. But now everyone we'd gone to school with seemed to be getting married, including Draco Malfoy. Harry and Ginny were already expecting their first child. I quit my job in the Ministry at Ron's request. He wanted me to be a stay-at-home mom.

I was still twenty-four when Ron and I were married. I tried to pretend that I was happy, but deep down I was miserable. Ron worked long hours. There were still many neo-Death Eaters and Death Eater sympathisers out there. There was also a new, radical group springing up called the Red-Triad.

He went from being an absentee-fiancé to being an absentee husband. He even disappeared off to work for an hour at our wedding reception! I wasn't ready to be a mother yet, and I wasn't prepared for the loneliness and monotony of being a housewife. I hated the macho attitude that Ron developed. I hated when we went out (which was seldom) and he bragged about 'bringing home the bacon' or being the 'sole breadwinner'. It made me feel stupid, useless, and inadequate, less than.

I loathed him for taking my virginity. I told everyone that I was saving it for marriage. The truth was that I was saving it for Draco. I imagined, from the first time with Ron, that he was in fact Malfoy. I tried to enjoy Ron – but he never really turned me on. Sex was perfunctory – like brushing my teeth. He'd come home late, wake me up and hike up my nightgown around my waist. I'd spread my legs and stare at the ceiling until he was done.

Within a few months, the arguing started. I told him that I was bored; that I wanted to go back to work – to be productive. He wanted me to start having babies. I said he worked too much, was absent for too long at a time. He said once I had children to look after the boredom and loneliness would go away when he wasn't around. I said he didn't understand me. He said I was a lousy wife.

I read in a magazine one day that Astoria Greengrass-Malfoy was pregnant. I flushed my contraceptives down the loo. I began faking orgasms. Ron was happy. I was anything but.

He took me out to a fancy dinner for my twenty-fifth birthday – a new, chic, wizard restaurant in Paris. It was nice at first, but he kept excusing himself every few minutes to use the floo in the back to check in on work. Our conversation deteriorated as the night wound along, eventually coming to rest on his work and my non-pregnancy. We kept being interrupted by that damn, flashing Auror coin. I told him I'd had enough. He said work needed him urgently. I called him a liar. He left before I had the chance to tell him that I didn't have enough money to pay the bill.

I cried into my wine glass. It was my birthday and I was all alone, with very little money in a foreign country. He had requested the night off – he didn't have to go to work. It was my twenty-fifth birthday for crying out loud. Why couldn't he just have said no? Dammit, for one fucking time, why couldn't he put me – his wife – before his damn job? He'd just left me – stranded. I'd never felt so foolish in my entire life.

I was contemplating just how many dirty dishes the manager was going to make me wash when I heard a male voice saying 'Happy Birthday'. I looked up, half expecting to see Ron smiling down at me, telling me that it was a practical joke. But the grey eyes that met mine did not belong to Ronald Weasley.


	2. Draco

I had gone with Astoria to Platform 8 ¼ to see her off on the Paris Express shortly after Scorpius left for school. I was wandering aimlessly, now, through Kings Cross station. Wandering amongst the muggles as I had become used to doing. It was refreshing, sometimes, to be among people who had no idea who you were.

_Astoria Greengrass and I – we were compatible. We both suffered under the same burden of Purebloodism. Our families were wealthy and our blood lines were pure. We were expected to carry on the tradition. In pureblood culture, love and marriage have nothing to do with each other. _

_My mother Narcissa was a Black – the oldest and most noble bloodline in England. My father was a Malfoy – the wealthiest and most respected. They were considered a perfect match, and they produced the requisite pureblood heir – namely me. Astoria had an identical background. The best purebloods did. The story of Scorpius Malfoy would be no different._

_My marriage had been a lonely one. Astoria had her own friends, her own life and I had mine. I had hoped at least to have some sort of connection to her, some sort of deep understanding like what my parents had. My father told me that my wife didn't need to be my only source of comfort. He confessed his infidelities and my mother's indiscretions. It was a truth I wished he'd never told me, yet it was path I seemed destined to walk. I would lie in bed at night imagining that I was eleven years old again, that I could do it all over again. I dreamed that I had made different choices. I imagined that the witch lying next to me was my one true love, the only comfort I would ever need. We would love with such reckless abandon. But then the sunlight would come and suck all of the air out of the room and I would feel like I was suffocating. My dreams would be gone and I would be left with the stark reality of an empty bed and an empty heart. _

I was pleasantly surprised to see Hermione Granger standing at a coffee shop counter fiddling with her purse. Ron was no where in sight. I decided to say hello.

"Let me get that" I took a ten-pound note from my wallet and shoved it towards the cashier.

It was a few moments before Hermione turned around. She was evidently surprised to see me. "Malfoy" she sputtered.

I smiled and leaned forward and kissed her on the cheek. She kissed me back. I put my hand on the small of her back, guided her towards a table and pulled a chair for her. I sat next to her.

"Twelve years" I muttered. She sipped her coffee and nodded.

"Twelve years and you haven't aged a bit Granger." She smiled broadly, though I wasn't sure if at the compliment or at my use of her maiden name. I'll never call her Weasley.

We sat in silence staring at each other. What felt like an eternity was probably closer to thirty seconds. I'd seen her with Ron down on the 9 ¾. Saw her with two kids that could only be described as miniature versions of herself and Ron. She still wore her wedding band. She was still married to that foul creature.

_Ronald Weasley was one pureblood wizard that I hated. Despised and detested like no other; and it had nothing to do with his being a blood traitor. Hermione Granger was a flower, an angel, a goddess, a treasure of immeasurable worth. Instead of admiring her, praising her, worshipping her - he belittled her, undermined her, insulted her. I told myself I shouldn't hate him so much – I was no better than he. Perhaps if it had been another witch; perhaps if it hadn't been my Hermione._

Hermione broke the silence. "Where's Astoria?"

"En route to France." I thought about lying to her. I thought about telling her that everything was great – that everything had worked out like it apparently had with her and Ron. I didn't. "We're ... we're separated. Our divorce will be final in a few weeks. We tried to stay together for Scorpius, but ... we ... she ... she met someone."

I paused and studied Hermione's expression. It was full of compassion and understanding.

"Things have changed since our time. Many children these days are raised in single parent homes; come from broken or dysfunctional families. One of Scopius' friends once introduced a witch he was with as his mother's ex-husband's step-son's half-sister."

We both laughed weakly.

"Where's Ron?"

"Work" she replied curtly as a sadness crept over her features.

I closed my eyes and cringed when she said that Ron was at work. He was always at '_work', _never with her. I guessed everything hadn't worked out with them as well as I'd thought. I doubted she knew; doubted Ron had ever told her anything. I wondered if I should say something – but it had been twelve years. Could she forgive me for keeping a secret for twelve years? I chided myself inwardly for not doing more that day, twelve ago. But back then I was thinking of duty and obligation. We all were.

"Why are you still with that oaf? You can do so much better. If you were my wife Granger ..."

"Don't start, Draco. Please. Not now." She inhaled deeply and massaged her temples. I could see her eyes becoming cloudy. I changed the subject.

"So you're back out to work now?" I tapped her folder. "I read in the Daily Prophet that you're a witch-in-law; that you're taking on Crown Estates?"

Hermione slid her folder out of my grip and into her lap "Sorry" she sipped her coffee "I can't really talk about it."

I nodded that I understood. "I'm glad to hear that you are working though; especially in a field that you love. I did always picture you out there on the front line championing muggle-born and house-elf rights. You're a long way from SPEW!"

We laughed earnestly at the memory of her first attempt at House-elf liberation. I liked when she laughed. I liked the way her lips curled, the way the corners of her eyes crinkled, the way the colour rushed to her face. I wanted to reach over the table just then and kiss her – hold her and kiss her. I was surprised at how much I still wanted her. After all these years.

"Hermione. Come away with me." I leaned over the table and grasped her hands in mine.

She shook her head, a tear was forming in the corner of her eye "I can't Draco."

"It doesn't have to be like this. We can be together – you and me. Leave Ron. Come away with me."

"I can't Draco. My son ..."

"Your children will understand. If you're happy, they'll be happy."

"Draco, just because you and Astoria called it quits doesn't mean that I'm automatically going give up my life, give up everything to be with you. I'm sorry the two of you couldn't make things work, and I know my marriage isn't perfect but ..."

"Hermione, your marriage hasn't been working for you since day one, do you really think things are going to change now? Why do you feel you have to punish yourself? You did your duty."

She shook her head more vigorously. The cover of her coffee cup became a reservoir for her salty tears. "Not duty" she finally whispered "guilt".

She was wiping the tears away, trying to pull herself together. I was completely stationary, a knot forming in my stomach. I couldn't believe she'd just said that.I'd never anticipated ... never imagined ... _guilt_? I'd never felt guilt in my marriage, but my union had been built on very different blocks. How could I have been so foolish to think that she wouldn't blame herself? To think that she wouldn't feel indebted to Ron? And that bastard didn't deserve it; didn't deserve her. If she only knew what I knew. If I'd only told her.

"You shouldn't ... you have nothing ... there's no ..." I closed my eyes. My words weren't coming. I wanted to tell her, needed to confess, but I couldn't seem to find the words.

Hermione pulled away from me. I watched as she gathered her paraphernalia and cleared her throat. "I have to go, Malfoy. I have a deposition."

"Hermione I love you" I choked out.

"Stop, Malfoy" She couldn't look me in the eye. "We're too old to play games. We're not children anymore."

_I knew I wasn't a child anymore. I was a far cry from being a child. As a child I could always bully my parents into giving me whatever I wanted; I'd believed even her. But pureblood values were so deeply entrenched that not even a war could eradicate them. I couldn't turn my back on my family, my heritage, my people. Not after the fighting; not when they needed me most. Not after they'd given so much for me, risked everything for me. I'd buried an aunt. I'd buried a godfather. I'd buried a best friend. I'd given up my childish dreams. I buried Hermione Granger; buried her deep. _

_I did my duty._

She stood. I stood. I couldn't let her go. Not so easily. Not again. Not this time.

"No. Hermione. Wait. Please. I need to talk to you." I reached for her, but she evaded me. She hurried towards a bustling area. I followed, desperately trying to catch her, calling her name. I watched her brown curls manoeuvring through the sea of muggles. I tried to keep up, but I lost her. I looked every which way. She was gone. Apparated away in the crowd. I lost her. Again.

"DAMMIT!"

I yelled and kicked a nearby column. Pain resonated through my leg, but I didn't care. Physical pain was nothing compared to the emotional anguish I was feeling at that very moment. _Guilt._ She felt guilt and that wasn't fair. I paced back and forth next to the column, frantically running my hands through my hair. The knot in my stomach tightened. I needed to do something. I couldn't let it end like this. She shouldn't have been the one to feel the guilt.

"Damn."

I kicked the column again. My eyes were stinging. My breaths were coming in fast, short bursts. The muggles were making a wide berth around me like I was a madman. I felt like a madman. I registered what looked like security personnel approaching. I headed for the nearest exit.

* * *

It was twelve years ago when I'd last seen Hermione. Astoria was five months pregnant with Scorpius and we were having dinner in some restaurant that had tickled her fancy. She was talking on and on about so-and-so's party and this decoration and that decoration and whatever. I smiled and nodded every so often, but my attention was on the couple a few tables over. A shock of red hair had caught my eye. I stared at the red headed wizard. He stared back. Ronald Weasley. It had been years since I'd seen Weasley, yet there he was in the most expensive wizard restaurant in Paris. I couldn't see the face of the witch he was with – she was backing me – but I recognised her nonetheless. The shape of her figure; the graceful gestures of her hands; the brown curls escaping her chignon. I'd know her anywhere. Hermione Granger.

Ron seemed to be having bladder control problems. He kept leaving then returning to their table. They seemed to be arguing – the way couples argue in fancy restaurants. They'd lean in close to each other, their faces contorting and hardening; their lips moving in rapid succession. Then they'd pull away and lean back in their chairs - arms folded, smiling nervously at the other patrons – hoping nothing was overheard. She'd lower her head; he'd look over at me. She would return her face to his. He'd leave the table in a huff.

My wife was less than thrilled with my preoccupation. I tried my best to focus on her and her plans for the baby shower, but my mind would wander, my gaze would shift back to the beautiful, brown haired muggle-born. I disagreed when I should have nodded, smiled when I should have frowned. Astoria looked over her shoulder to where I'd been staring all evening. She asked who the witch was. I told her an old friend.

Astoria made to leave. I prepared to go with her, but she shook her head; kissed my cheek and urged me to stay. She understood. She was pureblood. She understood such things. She put her hands on her protruding belly; said I'd already done my duty.

Astoria left.

I remained.

Ron left.

Hermione remained.

I drained my glass, straightened my shirt, and smoothed my hair. I walked slowly, but determinedly towards the table when she sat sobbing. With each step my mind filled with images from our past. The first time I called her a mudblood, the Yule Ball, the day she opened the gate, the times I'd hexed her, detention, the time she slapped me, her swollen face beneath a stinging jinx at the Manor. I slid into the seat opposite her. I knew it was her birthday. I'd always remembered the little details about her.

I hadn't expected anything. A few drinks, some reminiscing, maybe a few laughs. But she was an emotional train wreck. I hadn't expected that. I'd imagined she and Ron had an ideal marriage – a few bumps and scrapes here and there - but full of the love that was missing from mine. I was wrong. I surreptitiously asked the maitre d' to include her bill with mine - make it look like her worthless husband had picked up the tab before he left. I hurried her out of the restaurant into the crisp evening air.

She was in no state to travel back to England. Ron hadn't made any arrangements from what I gathered. I bought her a ticket on the London Express for the next morning and got her a luxury suite for the night. I walked her to the room. Tucked her into bed. Made sure she would be all right. She asked me to stay. She was so distressed and depressed and attention-starved she would probably have asked Jack-the-Ripper to stay, even if he were wearing an enormous, flashing neon name tag.

I stayed with her. I held her soft, warm body against mine. I whispered comforting words to her hair. She poured her soul out to me. I don't know why she did it, but I responded in kind. We shared our innermost feelings – about the past; about our marriages; about the war; about each other. Feeling we had never shared with any other living souls. We cried and kissed and kissed and cried. Cried together like the fools we were. Cried for our sorrows, for the choices we'd made, for the years we could never bring back. We kissed like there was an imminent cataclysm; like there'd be no tomorrow. We kissed our longings, our passions, our desires. I wanted to take her away – somewhere far away where nobody knew our names. She thought of Scorpius. She thought of Ron. She said it wouldn't be right. She was right. She was always right. I held her until she fell asleep then left the room quietly, less she woke with a changed mind and we became adulterers. There'd be another time, another place, another chance. I truly believed that.

* * *

I staggered down the street outside of King's Cross Station like a drunkard. My leg pained, by stomach pained, my mind pained. I was standing next to Severus' grave not knowing how I'd gotten there, but it was there I always ended up when I felt the pains of love. Severus had understood these pains in a way no other could. It was he who'd taught me how to love from a distance, how to detach and compartmentalize, how to bury feelings deep inside. But now my insides ached as things once dead clawed their way out of their graves. Now I lay crying; convulsing and retching over my godfather's resting place clutching a handful of dirt.

The sun was well past its midday mark by the time I said good-bye to Severus. I had a board meeting to attend at Hogwarts, though the thought of sitting around with a bunch of ancient witches and wizards listening to the same garble that they talked year in and year out was less than appealing. I contemplated calling my father and asking him to go in my stead, but decided against it. I wanted to see Scorpius. I was planning to take him over to Hogsmeade for a little celebration – to make him the envy of all the other Slytherins – the same as my father had done for me on my first day. I apparated to Malfoy Manor, showered and changed into my business robes.


	3. Hermione Revisited

The picture frame shattered on impact with the far wall before I even registered that I'd thrown it. The inhabitants of the photograph scowled at me. I didn't care.

Tears were streaming from my eyes like water from a broken main. I was lucky to have gotten home unsplinched considering my emotional state.

Home.

I looked around my living room with the middle-class clutter. I hated this room. I hated this stupid little muggle house on the stupid little suburban muggle street. I hated my small television and my worn carpet; I hated the thread-bare couch and out-dated armchairs. But most of all I hated myself.

My life could have been so different. If only I had made different choices – better choices. I should have told Draco how I felt about him in school. I should have seized my second chance with him twelve years ago. Instead I'd dug myself into a hole from which there was no escape.

I seized another picture from the mantle with every intention of hurling it when I noticed that it was a picture of Hugo and Rose. My knees weakened and I felt my body splay on the carpet. I held the picture close to my chest as I sobbed. My children. I am such a bad mother.

Rose was only seven years old in the picture. She was smiling – she used to smile a lot then. I had put this picture of her on display because it was one of the last times I'd been able to capture her smiling. I remember when Rose was born. I had hoped she would have red hair like Ron, but she didn't. She looked like me – though she had blue eyes, like her grandmother.

Hugo was barely six in the photo. His wild-eyed toothless grin made me smile momentarily. I love Hugo so much; yet I snapped at him not two hours ago. I so often lose my temper with him – I hate myself for it. Sometimes I think that I subconsciously blame him for my plight – I know it's unfair to him. I know it's not his fault. I am such a bad mother, but I do love him. I love him so much. I carried him in my womb for nine months; I would do anything for him; I love my son so much and yet ...

At least he has his father. Ron absolutely adores Hugo. He even takes Hugo to work with him sometimes.

I turned the picture of my children face-down on the carpet as a new wave of guilt swept through my body. I had stayed with Ron because of Hugo – because I couldn't put Hugo through the pain of his parents divorcing. I had had Hugo because of Ron – because I selfishly wanted to ease my own guilty conscience. Hugo was my duty. No. Hugo was my guilt.

"_If you're happy, your children will be happy_" Draco's words rung in my head. What if he's right? What if I walked out right now? I know I would be happy with Draco, but there's Hugo to think about. I wonder how Scorpius is dealing with his parents' split. Draco and Astoria probably told him from birth that they would split up someday. I had preached the sanctimony of marriage to my children; like my parents had to me, like Ron's parents had to him. I am a hypocrite, a fraud. I don't deserve my children. I don't deserve happiness.

I rose from the ground slowly and returned the photo to its proper place on the mantle before settling on the couch. The same couch where I had found Ron bruised and bandaged twelve years ago.

_I'd taken a taxi home from King's Cross Station after disembarking from the London Express. I had every intention of leaving Ron that day – I just needed to pack my things. But the sight that greeted me when I walked into the living room made my heart skip a beat. Ron was unconscious on the couch, phials of coloured potions littered the ground and blood was seeping though the bandages on his head, his arms, his legs, his chest. There were a stack of prescription parchments on the side table and a note from the Ministry of Magic granting Ron sick leave for an unspecified amount of time as he had been badly injured. All the anger and frustration I'd felt moments before melted away in that skipped heartbeat. _

_How could I have even thought to abandon Ron like that? He hadn't totally abandoned me at the restaurant – he'd paid the bill. He had probably made transport arrangements too but I was probably too enamoured with Draco Malfoy to realise. How could I have thought so little of him? He'd been out saving the world while I'd been out philandering. Ron was right – I was a lousy wife; and I couldn't leave him. Not then._

_I tended to my husband. It was weeks before he was able to go back to work, and by then my first pregnancy had been confirmed._

More guilt. I was drowning in it. The tears were coming fast and furious; my body was shaking uncontrollably. I stretched out on the infamous sofa, sinking deeper and deeper into the cushions like I was sinking deeper and deeper into my own grave. I closed my eyes – I need to pull myself together. Minky is depending on me.

* * *

It was raining when I woke up. The television was on. I was alone. For a moment I didn't know where I was, but then I glimpsed the Eiffel Tower through a crack in the curtains and the events of the previous night came rushing back. Ron abandoning me at the restaurant; Draco Malfoy caring for me; my confession of love to the blond man and his returned affections. My mind was reeling – replaying conversations over and over; trying to formulate a plan that I already knew I wouldn't perform. I would have to be strong – I would have to leave Ron. We had no obligations to each other. Draco would leave Astoria. We could all have that happiness for which we yearned.

I had decided to go for a walk to clear my head, but when I opened the door to exit the room, I was greeted by a dishevelled Draco Malfoy standing in my doorway. I didn't hear him knock – he hadn't knocked. I didn't know how long he'd been standing outside the door. I wondered if he had ever left at all, but he was wet like he'd been out in the rain. His eyes were dark and puffy like he hadn't slept. His hands were balled into fists and his knuckles were bruised like he'd been punching a brick wall.

He was looking into my eyes and I was lost in his. He told me he would leave Astoria once the child was born - they had never been in it for the long haul. He wanted me to leave Ron – said I owed the bastard nothing. I wanted to tell him that I'd been thinking of ways to walk away from my marriage, but I remained silent. I didn't know yet if I'd have the strength to do it. I took a step towards Draco and he took a step towards me. I could feel the heat radiating off of his body. At that moment, I wanted Draco like I had never wanted anything before. I wanted to be enclosed in his strong arms; needed to feel his hard body against mine. Nothing else mattered.

He was everything I'd always imagined and more.

But when the time came for me to leave for the train station, I left him sleeping on the bed. I knew I'd be kidding myself to think we actually had something. Draco Malfoy would not leave his pureblood wife and child for me, a mudblood. I could not allow myself the false hope of anything happening with Draco beyond that one night. Many things are done and said in drunkenness and in the heat of passion. I'd made no promises to Draco, but I'd promised myself to file for a divorce from Ron nevertheless.

I'd expected Ron to be at work when I returned to London later that day. I imagined that I would just pack my things and leave him a note. But then I entered the living room and found my husband unconscious on the couch.

* * *

Minky was already waiting in the lobby at the Ministry of Magic when I arrived at half two. The counsel for Crown Estate were there as well – all ten of them. Any other day I would have been intimidated, but my thoughts were still lingering on my morning encounter with Draco Malfoy and I was having a hard enough time just focusing on Minky to be perturbed by anything else.

"Miss Hermione, Miss Minky is very scared."

"Don't be nervous, it's only a deposition. All you have to do is answer questions, just like we went through."

I looked at the shaking house elf. Her problems were much bigger than mine. Sometimes I wondered if I fought for house-elf rights because it made me feel better to know that others had greater problems than I did. I let out a long sigh then gave Minky a reassuring pat on the back.

"Everything is going to be fine."

I wished I believed my own sentiment. The depositions for Mr. and Mrs. Crown had been a nightmare with a different attorney objecting to each and every one of my questions – and they only had five attorneys with them then.

Everything is not going to be fine when this poor frightened house elf gets up to speak. Everything is not going to be fine when this deposition drags on and on until late into the night. Everything is not going to be fine when Rose calls home this evening to find neither of her parents there. Everything is not going to be fine just because Draco Malfoy left Astoria.

I tried to shake the last thought out of my head, but it was stuck there like peanut butter in a cavity (not that I've ever had a cavity – my parents were dentists after all). Everything is not going to be fine if I can't keep my composure throughout this thing.

As it turned out everything _was _fine – with the deposition anyways. Minky handled herself beautifully and I managed not to have a mental breakdown in the middle of proceedings.

It was quite late when I said my goodbyes to Minky at the Ministry. I thought about going home, but then changed my mind. I would have already missed Rose's call. I decided to go visit my parents instead. Almost forty years old and I still cried on my mother's shoulder.

My parents' house was now permanently connected to the floo network, so I arrived there in a few seconds.

"Hermione! What a pleasant surprise!"

"Hi mom. Where's dad?"

"Oh, your father went to bed early tonight. I stayed up watching television." My mother chuckled. "I've become rather fond of this new late-night soap opera. Let me get you a cup of tea. I just this minute finished brewing a pot."

"Mom" I sat in a chair at the dining room table while my mother poured me a cup of tea "I saw Draco Malfoy today."

I couldn't control myself any longer and started crying. My mother sat next to me and hugged me. My mother knew everything. She knew I kept pictures of the Malfoys. She knew about my encounter with Draco twelve years ago. She knew my problems with Ron. I'd told her everything. She was the only person I confided such things to.

"And how is Draco?" my mother queried calmly.

"He and his wife split up. Their divorce will be final soon. I saw him when I was taking Rose to school this morning." I paused to take a sip of my tea.

I couldn't read my mother's expression – she seemed to be thinking. Finally, she spoke.

"Where's Ron?"

"At work I guess. I don't know – I came straight here from a deposition I had that ran late."

"I see." My mother nodded slowly. "And you really believe that he's at work?"

I didn't say anything, although I was regretting ever telling her my suspicions.

"Mom, Draco told me this morning that he was still in love with me" I took a deep breath "and I think I'm in love with him."

"Then what's the problem?"

"Mom!"

"Hermione" Mother placed her hand on top of mine "You know what I think of Ron – there's no need for me to repeat myself. I've always thought Draco a better match for you .."

"Well it's never been that simple has it?"

"It could have been. You just complicate things by over-thinking and over-analysing everything. And you're too hard on yourself."

Mom was right. Things could have been simple. I could have told Draco how I felt about him in Hogwarts or even after the war before Ron and I had anything really going on. Who knows – he might have defied his parents if he'd known that his love wouldn't be unrequited. I could have run away with him twelve years ago when I'd gotten a second chance. He left Astoria in the end anyway. And it would have been easier to have left Ron then – before we'd had the kids.

"I have to think about Hugo. Rose and Hugo" I muttered almost to myself.

"Children are far more resilient that we adults tend to think. You know" my mother continued in a light-hearted fashion "many people in this world only get one shot at love. But Draco Malfoy seems to keep popping into your life over and over again. Maybe the universe is trying to tell you something."

I rolled my eyes. "Yeah mom" I was as sarcastic as possible "I'm sure that the fates are conspiring to get me together with Draco Malfoy. Maybe the gods will send me a sign and..."

"No need for the sarcasm dear." Mother interrupted. "You came here for advice, so let me give you some advice. You are doing your children a disservice right now. You said yourself that you lose your temper with them quite easily. Your husband has a gambling problem or a drinking problem or is having an affair or ..."

"I never said Ron was having an affair" I interjected sharply.

My mother raised her hand to quiet me, then continued speaking "Whatever reason, he spends very little time at home and that is not healthy for your children or for you. You and Ron have been married now for about thirteen years and you're still having the same arguments you had when you were only dating. You've had more than enough time to sort your marriage out and yet that hasn't happened. I'm not saying that you should run into the arms of Draco Malfoy, but if you and Ron haven't been able to work things out by now, you never will."

"I thought you believed that marriage was sacred."

"I do. And you and Ron are making a mockery of it, so I think you should quit."

My mother's words cut me like a knife. She had alluded to divorce before, but she had never been so blunt. I felt the tears springing from my eyes. I swallowed hard and sniffed, trying to refrain from crying again.

"I don't know how, mom." I sobbed softly. "I don't know how to quit."

"Start by telling the truth. The truth will ..."

My mother never finished her sentence as we were both startled by the bright green flames that roared suddenly in the fireplace.

Ginny Weasley stepped out of the floo with a worried expression on her face.

"Hello Mrs. Granger." Ginny acknowledged my mother before her eyes fell on me. "Hermione! We've been looking all over for you!"

"What is it? What's wrong? Where's Hugo?"

"Hugo is with Harry and Ron. They're all at Hogwarts with McGonagall. Rose has gone missing!"


End file.
